


All messed up and nowhere to go

by RussianWitch



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We make rules for ourselves to make our lives easier...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All messed up and nowhere to go

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, if anyone feels like giving a hand give me a yell the help will be appreciated.

Arthur smokes like a true addict; deep inhalations, holding in smoke before slowly exhaling, a slight tremor in his hands while fumbling for the first cigarette after a long time in transit or cooped up with people who won't tolerate his smoking indoors, the loving way his lips wrap around the butt of a cigarette...

Eames often wonders if the younger man wears the same blissed-out expression when his mouth is full of cock. Not that Eames is sure that Arthur is gay, but being straight would make the point man as dull and drab as the first impression Arthur presents, and that would be a bloody waste. Eames imagines Arthur in his off hours picking up pretty hipster boys or cultured elder gentlemen looking for a boy-toy for the evening. For the sake of his own sanity, Eames rarely thinks of Arthur as a person, but he can't help thinking about him none-the-less.

After it gets out that Inception is possible, they are thrown together more often. The only two of the team who are still visible in the field they are wanted a lot; so Eames can indulge his habit of watching Arthur smoke more often. He hides in corners, or behind half-open doors gnawing on a toothpick; to keep his own need for nicotine and for something to wrap his lips around at bay and watches Arthur indulge in his oral fixation. Watches the lanky body relaxing into the alley wall, eyes closed, free hand petting the rough bricks like they are Arthur's only link to reality as long as the smoke is carrying nicotine into his body. The only moments when watching Arthur actually gets better is after a fight in the real world when the point man is rumpled and bruised; when he has taken hits to the face, cut open his cheek on his teeth or bit his tongue and is absorbing nicotine faster through the wounds getting stoned off of just one cigarette.

The only moments when watching Arthur actually gets better is after a fight in the real world when the point man is rumpled and bruised; when he has taken hits to the face, cut open his cheek on his teeth or bit his tongue and is absorbing nicotine faster through the wounds getting stoned off of just one cigarette. That's when Eames wants to jump him the most, maybe take Arthur to a fancy hotel with a ridicules thread count on the sheets and gold faucets everywhere, or maybe just bend him over the table Arthur has been working at in the weeks before the execution of the job.Eames really isn't picky in that regard he's gotten good at improvising over the years. Not that he doesn't take sex seriously, there is, after all, a lot to be serious about where it is concerned, but he just never really got used to it being OK to have something long term with a man.

Eames really isn't picky in that regard he's gotten good at improvising over the years.Not that he doesn't take sex seriously, there is, after all, a lot to be serious about where it is concerned, but he just never really got used to it being OK to have something long term with a man.

Not that he doesn't take sex seriously, there is, after all, a lot to be serious about where it is concerned, but he just never really got used to it being okay with have something long term with a man. Men, after all, are acceptable for fucking if you're twisted that way but not for building a life together or bringing home to meet dear old mum, that's what birds are for.

All in all, he's been pretty good about keeping on the right side of that particular divide at least where people know him as _him_. When he's gallivanting around the world, staying out of the Northern hemisphere and off the beaten path sometimes he allows himself to slip for a month or two, but never longer than three. After that he usually goes back to civilization, goes back home to remind himself why he keeps toeing the line.

Every time Eames works with Arthur he goes home after; just for a refresher, a reality check. Eames does constantly lie to people, but he doesn't lie to himself if he can help it no matter how unpleasant his life gets because of it. So just to be on the safe side, Arthur has been relegated to wank fodder and target for irritation a long time ago and isn't about to leave that category in Eames' head anytime soon. One of these days all of it will hit the fan; either Arthur will wise up or Eames will slip and things will get messy. Arthur being Arthur will probably shoot first and ask questions later; the reason he's managed to keep Cobb alive through the whole Mal and COBOL mess...

Arthur will go digging like the terrier that he is, come up with Eames' less than glamorous past...  
Not that Arthur needs to have it confirmed that Eames is a lowlife despite the education and the professionalism. As far as Eames knows Arthur has been convinced that Eames is scum, pretty much from the first time they worked together and Eames couldn't stay focused because he kept imagining cutting the point man out of his bespoke suit. Those kinds of thoughts aren't really productive when trying to get into the mindset of the mark that is to be forged. He finally managed to find his professionalism again after going out and finding someone to fuck for the night, getting back only by morning still sloshed, but able to ignore Arthur just long enough to get shit done.

He watches Arthur inhale again, look around shiftily and blow smoke rings after making sure no one is around. Arthur looks pleased with himself and a hell of a lot less tense like maybe he won't shoot a person for looking at him wrong at this very moment. The cigarette dangles precariously from Arthur's lips as he pulls up a cuff and checks the time and then actually removes the cuff-links and exposes his pale, soft underarms to the air rolling up his sleeves and making Eames bite the toothpick in half. Spitting up bits of sharp wood is his cue to get the hell out and go empty the hotel mini bar while going over the forge he's supposed to hold tomorrow in his head.

That's the beauty of forging; he can work at it everywhere without needing any equipment; makes it easy to wander around the local casinos and bars when he isn't following the mark. Good thing he learned multitasking early in life; driving getaway in London isn't for the simple minded with all the variables, playing poker with bastards who count cards while making sure no one is paying too close attention to where his gaze wandered occasionally has given him one hell of a poker face. Eames heaps all the papers with the mark's information together stuffs the mess into the briefcase he's been dragging around for form's sake and tries to decide if a bar isn't a better option after all. If he can find one with a certain type of clientele... it might prove too distracting by half, on the other hand, a blow job might just get his mind off of Arthur's bare forearms. He feels positively Victorian getting a stiffy over forearms! Unfortunately, the briefcase has to go first no matter what, he decides, so the hotel it is. Eames takes his time; taking the long route making sure he isn't followed, looking at the dark store displays and not thinking about anything.

Slamming into his room he decides against going out; changing his mind for the fifth time since leaving the empty office building they are working from. Makes up his mind about going back to old stomping grounds for a bit longer this time, make things really sink in.  
The gun against the back of his head isn't really a surprise, he felt something off just as soon as he closed the door, but it doesn't feel like an immediate threat.

"Somehow I never took you for a voyeur, Mr. Eames, I always expected you to be an exhibitionist." The words prove how little Arthur really knows him; exhibitionism would have probably cost him, in the best case, more teeth than he could spare and in the worst case a knife between his ribs. There is a reason why Eames is good at being other people; he's really bad at being himself and everyone has to be someone.

"I thought you were still working darlin'. Had I known you would be visiting, I'd have brought some food at least." Arthur's full weight is on Eames' back maneuvering him to the closest wall; pressing him to it with the gun slowly sliding from his temple down to the back of his neck to linger for a second before tracing his spine down to the fourth rib and slightly to the left before resting there. Eames is missing Arthur's full weight behind him already.

"You've been watching me since you got here. I don't like being spied on." Unfortunately, spying implies a purpose; gathering data with the aim to use it for something or other. Eames doesn't have an aim, well aside from not driving himself insane with his own rules, just an overwhelming urge to memorize everything about his American colleague he can get away with. Possibly memorize enough that at some later date he will be able to become Arthur in a dream and feel him completely, understand him and get him the hell out of Eames' system so he can get on with his life.

"We work in pretty close quarters. Hadn't realized I was infringing on your territory." Sounding like he isn't worried is easy, not breaking out in cold sweat is a bit more complicated, he raises his hands slowly putting them on the thick wallpaper wiping his palms as he puts them level with his head perfectly in Arthur's sight and away from his body.

"You are always infringing on my territory." Arthur's voice is in his ear lower and sharper than he's used to.

"Why is that Mr. Eames? You don't have anyone else to annoy?" He really doesn’t; more because he doesn't want to think than because he can't find a suitable candidate. Eames supposes that he could refuse every job offer that carries a threat of crossing Arthur's path, but that would mean conceding the field or most of it and Eames isn't ready to do that just because Arthur is annoyed.

"Dream share isn't your personal sandbox Arthur; you don't get to decide who gets to play." Eames can almost hear Arthur raise an eyebrow at his words, sometimes he wonders at the arrogance of the point man; yes Arthur is the best but that doesn't mean there aren't other people around who have a say.

"Besides I don't see you turning down jobs when you see my name on the roster darlin'." That gets him a light kick to the back of his knee and the gun jammed hard into his ribs.

"We aren't here to talk about me." Gun or no gun Eames kicks out in hopes of at least catching Arthur's shin, what he gets is Arthur stepping around the kick and plastering himself to Eames' back.

"We... weren't even supposed to be here, I was planning on working Arthur; like you always advise me to do." He's proud of managing sarcasm with Arthur so close, he can smell the slender man leaning on his back still jabbing the gun into Eames' ribs, another gun in Arthur's belt jabbing at Eames' ass... only Arthur never carries a second gun and certainly not in his pants. The idea that Arthur's hard cock is jabbing at him makes Eames' swallow repeatedly frozen with indecision.

"How conscientious of you for once. But I would still like to know why you've been stalking me." Eames mentally throws up his hands at Arthur's one track mind and does something incredibly stupid: he buckles back against the hard flesh digging into him.

"Seems to me I'm not the only one who has some explaining to do, Luv." Arthur jumps away like a scalded cat twisting Eames around, now he can enjoy the sight; Arthur's tie loosened, the first button of his shirt undone and a big gun in his hand, bespoke pants bulging rather obscenely... Eames is going to treasure this image for a long time.

"It doesn't look like your mind." If it was anyone but Arthur, Eames could probably get a grip on him and take control of the situation. But he has so many rules regarding interaction with Arthur, that Eames is paralyzed.

"Arthur..."

"All that flirting Mr. Eames... I'd have expected you to try to get your fascination out of your system a while ago." He shakes his head because it isn't that simple and he doesn't want to explain. Instead, he looks away focusing on Arthur's loosened tie memorizing the knot and the way it lies just under the hollow in Arthur's throat.

"Arthur darlin', weren't you the one preaching professionalism? Seems like bad form to shag a colleague..."

"Coming from you that's a little hard to take." Unexpectedly Arthur is close again; Eames can feel his heat, and his breath as he speaks.

"Especially since I was looking forward to getting you to screw my brains out." Eames' head snaps around meeting Arthur's eyes their breath mingling for an instant as all of Eames' rules and regulations get tangled up in his mind. When he gets his brain back on track he can taste Arthur, smell him, feel him...it's better than Eames imagined; less prissy than expected, more demanding, his free hand digging into Eames' hair, holding him in place.

Arthur isn't going to take a no for an answer; Eames already knows that tomorrow will be a huge mess no matter what happens. He might as well enjoy the moment, memorize everything he can about Arthur and then go off and disappear for a while and try to reconcile himself with his rules again, patch the holes Arthur is making in his defenses.  
Somehow they move to the bed dropping pieces of clothing on the way and to Eames' surprise he finds himself on top pressing Arthur into the mattress.

For a man Arthur has rather long, sharp fingernails; dug into Eames' back they leave stinging welts making him arch and thrust their cocks together. Arthur has a foul mouth to which Eames can listen for days describing everything Arthur wants him to do. Mostly Arthur wants to get his tight little ass fucked, preferably more than once in several positions and then maybe in the morning do the same to Eames. He laps at Arthur's throat rubs his scratchy cheek along delicate skin until he can nip at a tight nipple provoking a pleased yowl. Arthur wraps his legs around Eames' waist pulling him closer, plastering them together again and taking Eames' mouth.

Eames suspects that Arthur is the one to grab the lube and condoms because he's too busy exploring every bit of skin he can reach with his tongue and leaving bruises on Arthur's skin with his hands.  
He goes from wrapping himself around Arthur to being inside Arthur being squeezed by internal muscles, drawn further inside, encouraged to go harder, deeper, to put his back into it.

He buries his face in the crook of Arthur's neck mouthing at the skin as he rocks into the hot body below him. He knows Arthur is going to be sporting finger shaped bruises on his hips and hopes those bruises will last. Arthur goes non-verbal as Eames speeds up, his only encouragement is Arthur's nails tearing at his back. He slams into the pliant body under looking up, looking Arthur straight in the eyes wanting to memorize his expression as Arthur loses it for him, tightening up biting his lip but not closing his eyes. Eames leans down licking at the bitten lips moaning into Arthur's mouth as he lets go himself trembling and getting dizzy from the rush. He slides off the lanky body only to have it follow and wrap around him. The last thing he expected is to discover that Arthur is a cuddler.

"You are getting exactly 45 minutes respite before you're fucking me again." The words are muttered into Eames' chest and he wonders how the hell he's going to look himself in the face come the morning. He might not have anything to worry about in the morning, Arthur might go as soon as he is satisfied and never look back, and this might be a one-time thing. Eames rolls onto his side and buries his face in Arthur's neck forcing himself not to think about the mess in his head just breathing Arthur's sent and forcing all of it into a box to be dealt with at a later time and date.

"30 minutes Mr. Eames." He snorts into Arthur's skin and wraps his arms tighter around the lanky body and starts to count the minutes in his head.


End file.
